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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not consent for my writing to be used to train AI. I acknowledge I don't own the copyright to War Horse by Michael Morpurgo or the 2011 film. But every word in this fanwork was written by myself, without AI.
Even when Morpurgo's book was first published. Many articles about War Horse noticed similarities with Anna Sewell's book. It was to the point that "Black Beauty goes to war" became a common phrase in reviews. I decided to finally combine them.
"Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting."
Job 39:19-25 KJV
The aging Black Beauty grazed in peace.
The old Hackney gelding bore scars from years suffering at the hands of men. His joints were stiff, muzzle turned gray. He once moved with the high trot his breed was known for, but his hooves slowed with time. He lived a peaceful retirement on Joe Green's farm in Devon, safe from whips and bearing reins. It was 1912, and Black Beauty knew nothing of the ship that sank in the Atlantic.
Long after Ginger's death, Farmer Green found a lady companion for Black Beauty. The very opposite of Ginger's fire, Clover had been gentle and calm. Now their daughter Daisy cantered across the field. Daisy was a bright brown half-Cleveland Bay, perhaps destined to draw King Edward's carriage.
Newspaper in his pocket, Farmer Green opened the stone fence's gate in the summer morning. Clover's halter hung on the gate like a tombstone to remember horses of the past. The human was greeted by his animals, and Black Beauty followed Daisy to meet him. Both the man and the dark horse had grown older, content as the years passed.
"I'm goin' to visit me mum," Farmer Green told them. "She's taken ill. But Albert Narracott, the boy from the turnip farm next door, he'll look afters you. Listen to this."
He took out the newspaper, displaying the large black-and-white photograph of a magnificent stallion. "Owned by King Edward, the racehorse King's Pride is being shipped home from the States, where he won the Belmont Stakes in New York. King's Pride will run again in the Newmarket Town Plate, which he won last year." He rubbed Daisy's ear. "Be good while I'm gone, eh?"
Farmer Green kissed the nose of the old black horse he had saved from the slaughterhouse auction. The gelding and mare watched the farmer walk to the new train station. There was a time when Green would have driven Daisy in the cart. But now locomotives and driverless-carriage vehicles were faster than traditional horsepower.
A fourteen-year-old boy brought a bale of hay to the field. He was awkward and clumsy, nearly looking like an ungainly foal on coltish legs. "I'm Albert," he told the horses. "Farmer Green paid me coin to care for you." He whistled in awe. "You are fine horses, aren't you?"
Albert stroked Black Beauty's neck as the animals ate the hay. "I have'ta go to school, but I'll be back to bring you to the barn." Quiet settled over the farm, while Daisy and Black Beauty were left to peruse the grass field. And then a pure Thoroughbred stallion galloped up the road.
They recognized him from the newspaper's photo. King's Pride was a powerful racehorse, with a diamond blaze, and red bay coat so rich that it nearly looked the color of blood. He was a champion titleist, flat winner of the Royal Ascot and One Thousand Guineas races. Black Beauty noticed Daisy's ears prick forward, her tail raised almost as if she was an Arabian.
King's Pride jumped the stone fence.
He entered their meadow, and the farm horses snorted in shock. Surprising for a racehorse, King's Pride bowed to them, lowering his head. He wore a halter made of exquisite leather. Daisy and Black Beauty bowed in return, and the stranger touched noses with Daisy.
Her father caught the scent of dust on King's Pride, the smell of men, ocean waves, and the finest alfalfa. As the newspaper reported, King's Pride had only just sailed home to England. He had likely escaped his handlers from his trailer on the road, and galloped away to discover Green's farm.
It had been a long time since Daisy had seen a male horse who was not related to her. Clover had died from the fever that swept through Green's herd. But here King's Pride stood before them.
Daisy waved her long tail with a whinny, pawing the earth with a hoof. With an intrigued snort, the Thoroughbred gave a thundering neigh in response. Black Beauty chose to walk to the barn, entering his open stall door. The gelding nickered in amusement as King's Pride and Daisy galloped to the copse of trees.
But then shouts were heard on the road.
Racing grooms searched the village roads. An old wealthy gentleman gripped his cane as they looked for his champion horse. "King's Pride, where the bloody hell did you go?" the Earl of Godolphin bellowed.
Black Beauty left his stall, and Daisy emerged with King's Pride from the trees. "There he is!" the owner declared. "Catch him!"
A rattling car brought the horse trailer to the farm. Grooms in silks opened the Green farm gate, rushing King's Pride. Daisy fled, and the racehorse reared in defiance. But a lead was attached to his harness, and he was forced into the trailer box. The trailer went down the road, and pounding hoof kicks and furious neighing came from inside. Daisy reared with a forlorn whinny.
Albert returned after school, none the wiser to the morning chaos with racehorses. He led Daisy and Black Beauty to the barn, brushing and feeding them. The boy gave a carrot to Black Beauty, before skipping home as his mother called for supper.
Farmer Green returned in the morning. "Why is your tail tangled in knots, Daisy?" he wondered.
But their kind owner noticed Daisy growing larger as time went by. When milk dripped from her to the stall floor, Farmer Green sighed. "The Narracotts told me King's Pride jumped me fence. Looks like he did more than that."
Black Beauty stayed by his daughter's side when the time came.
Farmer Green tried to soothe Daisy as she struggled to deliver the foal in the meadow. Her father was nearby as Daisy groaned, snorting in pain. Now thirteen, the transfixed Albert watched from between the slats of the gate. Farmer Green pulled the small hooves that emerged, and the colt slid into the grass.
Black Beauty watched as Daisy cleaned her foal, the same blood bay of the racehorse father. The trembling colt fought to stand on quivering legs. He managed to stay upright, swaying and unsteady.
Black Beauty stepped forward to meet his grandcolt. The ancient black horse's graying muzzle brushed the newborn's nose.
But the grandsire hoped with all his heart that the small foal would never feel the lash of a whip. Carriages drawn by equines were becoming obsolete with the advancement of motor vehicles. The youngster could grow to be a children's riding horse, or take a villager's wife to church. Perhaps the newborn equine would be spared pain at the hands of all-powerful humanity.
The next day, the Earl of Godolphin arrived at the Green patch of land in a luxurious car. The engine coughed black clouds of exhaust, startling the horses, and the colt hid behind Daisy. "I got your wire about the colt," the Earl grumbled. "I only stopped in, because I was in the county. My son-in-law has an estate in Devonshire."
"The colt was sired by King's Pride," Farmer Green explained. "Look at his color. And his blaze and stockings are the picture of your horse."
"He is a mutt!" the Earl snapped. "Your ugly mare is, what, a damn Yorkshire Coach Horse?"
"Cleveland Bay," Green explained. "I sold her brother to King Edward. The grandsire here is a Hackney-"
"Only a pure Thoroughbred can compete in races!" The aristocrat was red-faced. "That thing is a mongrel!"
"Did not your ancestor's Godolphin Arabian bring new blood to racing?" Green countered evenly. "The Darley Arabian, and the Byerley Turk improved the sport by crossbreeding."
"Keep the mutt!" the Earl told him. "It means nothing to me!"
When the nobleman turned to his rumbling car, the three horses paced nervously. The foal was caught between him and the automobile. "Out of the way, half-breed!" The Earl swung his cane at the colt.
Daisy charged, teeth bared and ears pinned in rage. And Black Beauty neighed a warning behind his daughter. Her teeth gripped the aristocrat's velvet coat sleeve, tearing a hole through the fabric. "Get your nag off me!"
"Daisy!" Farmer Green called, and she took her foal across the field. The torn velvet was still in her jaws. The Earl of Godolphin dove into his car, and raced away from the farmhouse.
Farmer Green and Black Beauty turned to see Albert comforting the foal over the stone fence. "You ain't no mutt," the boy said in a gentle tone. "You're a bloody grand horse, you are."
The colt was now two years old. He pranced nervously as Farmer Green put on his simple rope halter. "I know you don't want to go to the Devon Horse Fair," the man said. "But me mum's doctor bills have to be paid, see? I've prayed to the Lord and St. Francis, that you go to a good home."
Daisy was distraught. But Black Beauty laid down the meadow with a deep sigh. The old dark gelding was over thirty, long past his prime.
His grandcolt pulled at the rope to go to the ancient equine. Black Beauty nickered weakly to him. "Beauty?" Farmer Green was conflicted. "I'll be back in a flash," he told the black horse turned gray.
Now Daisy remained with her father as Black Beauty rasped for air. Half an hour passed, and Farmer Green ran up the country road to kneel beside the dying horse.
"Oh, Black Beauty," said the man, tears in his eyes. "Rest now, love."
Black Beauty laid his head in the arms of the man who saved him. And the old horse breathed his last.
"Joey, come here!" Albert called. But Joey, christened with a name by the boy, galloped to the fence dividing the Narracott land and Green farm. A wheat farmer's mules were taking something away covered in a tarp. From the Narracott side, Joey's nostrils flared as he caught the scent of death.
"Black Beauty is gone," Farmer Green told Joey. "Cantering in heaven's clouds, he is."
Black Beauty did not live to see Joey plowing a field, bred for racing but cajoled by his lad to turn farm horse. Nor Albert polishing Joey's coat until it gleamed, the horse following Albert's whistle anywhere his young master called. Black Beauty did not see the newspapers declaring war with Germany and Austro-Hungary. He did not witness horses traded to the cavalry. Not Albert's sorrow as Ted Narracott sold the boy's beloved companion.
Black Beauty's old halter hung on the gate. Yet when James Nicholls led Joey away from the hamlet, Joey paused. The young stallion brought his nose to his grandfather's halter, displayed like a grave monument. Joey paid respect to the old horse.
Nicholls drew away his mount, and Joey cantered with the cavalry unit towards the terrors of war.